


Kiss Like Thieves

by Nos4a2no9



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nos4a2no9/pseuds/Nos4a2no9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink Meme prompt fill. When one of his clients needs an extension, loan shark Erik Lehnsherr is willing to strike a bargain with Charles Xavier: he'll give Charles more time if Charles gives in, and gives himself over to Erik for an afternoon of kinky sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Like Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme fill for [the prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21646053#t21646053): _Charles borrowed some money (perhaps he has been disowned from the family and Raven is sick? Idk, make up a reason) from Loan Shark!Erik and now some months later Erik has come to collect._
> 
>  
> 
> _Charles can't afford to pay him back so Erik, incredibly attracted to Charles, arranges an alternate payment method. Erik can't bring himself to have sex with Charles under the circumstances, but he is twisted enough to have Charles put himself on display, to masturbate according to Erik's direction while Erik watches like a ravenous beast on the sidelines._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bonus: If this is a powered AU, Erik is definitely allowed to use and control metal dildos (tentacles?) on Charles._
> 
>  
> 
> _[X-Men First Kink Meme](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/) prompt fill._

****

Kiss Like Thieves

Erik didn’t recognize the short, dark-haired man waiting outside his office. If they’d met before, Erik would have remembered him. The man was exactly his type: compact and well-muscled with dark hair, pale skin, and a delicious-looking soft mouth that filled Erik’s head with distracting (if welcome) pornographic fantasies. He watched him on the CCTV monitor for a moment, absently wishing that the security camera filmed in colour, before buzzing his secretary.

Emma picked up the phone immediately. He watched her on the CCTV, too - her desk was directly across from the line of hard plastic chairs arranged outside Erik’s office door. 

“Yes?” Emma asked in her cool, neutral tone. 

“Who’s that knocking at my door?” he asked, grinning a wolfish grin that Emma would be able to interpret even over the phone. 

“That’s your one o’clock. Charles Xavier. He’s in for 12 large.” 

“Hm,” he grunted, running through his mental file of all the current outstanding loan profiles. He’d seen Xavier’s name in his ledger, but a $12,000 loan wasn’t a huge amount of money to a man in Erik’s position, relatively speaking, and Emma had added a black dot next to Xavier’s name in the book: a good risk. 

“Don’t tell me he’s come begging for an extension,” Erik frowned, watching Xavier’s tense face on the grainy security footage. It was a shame, really: Xavier appealed to him, and Erik preferred not to have to send Azazel after him to get that $12,000 back. Unlike Erik, Azazel didn’t have any appreciation for pretty things. Quite the opposite, in fact; Azazel would do his best to mark up that cherubic face, and perhaps shatter one of Xavier’s kneecaps for good measure.

Erik winced at the thought, and then winced again at the knowledge that Azazel’s work shouldn’t bother him in the slightest. It never had before.

The confusion made him angrily jab at the intercom. “Send him in,” Erik said, using the speaker instead of the handset. His voice boomed out of the intercom on Emma’s desk and made Xavier jump on the CCTV footage. _Good_ , Erik thought viciously. 

Xavier didn’t waste any time knocking. He pushed past the frosted glass door that served as barrier between the shop front, the reception area, and Erik’s private office sanctuary. 

Once Xavier had come to stand before Erik’s large oak desk, unnerved but doing a good job of hiding it, Erik used his powers to push the door closed, and then shot the deadbolt home for good measure. He didn’t want anyone disturbing them, not when he had to put the fear of God (or, rather, Azazel, and Erik himself) into Xavier. He didn’t spare Xavier more than a quick cursory glance, ignoring the impulse to let his gaze linger, to trace the outline of Xavier’s broad shoulders, narrow hips, and the neatly tailored charcoal suit that hugged his slender frame. Xavier’s hair, dark and thick, was carefully combed back off his forehead in smooth waves, and he looked a little like a schoolboy, freshly scrubbed and nervously standing in front of the school principle.

Erik squashed that thought immediately. He was a voyuer and a reprobate, but he’d never harboured those particular fantasies. Although something about Xavier’s boyish good looks did inspire certain illicit scenarios…

“Thank you for seeing me,” Xavier said. Erik raised an eyebrow. Xavier was English, or had at least spent time in the UK. And he was blushing. Erik had seen clients cowering in fear before him, begging for their lives, their limbs, their homes and families, but he’d never before seen anyone…blush. 

At least Charles Xavier was not going to bore him. Erik licked his lips, and favoured him with one of his broadest, sharpest grins. Xavier’s carefully controlled expression slipped for a moment, and Erik caught the familiar scent of fear wafting off him, combined with the trace of some spicy, expensive aftershave and the quality wool of Xavier’s suit. 

“I have to admit, I’m curious as to why you’ve come,” Erik began, shuffling through the loose pile of papers on the desk. “Ms. Frost outlined the specifics of your loan when you applied, didn’t she?” 

Xavier nodded, sable head bobbing up and down. Erik’s cock gave an interested twitch. “Good,” Erik continued. “I’d hate to think her remiss in her duties. So you know the terms, and you understand your responsibilities. Why the pressing need to see me?” 

Xavier had been watching him with that same tightly-contained expression, his large cornflower-blue eyes ( _perfection_ , Erik thought, imagining Xavier’s limpid blue eyes dilated in pleasure, his head thrown back in ecstasy, throat contracted to scream Erik’s name…)

“I’m afraid I have to ask for a slight extension,” Xavier replied, his rich, low baritone doing little to dispel Erik’s sudden arousal. “My investments haven’t…haven’t quite come to fruition yet. I only need another week.” 

Erik suppressed a snort. Charles Xavier was a disappointment. He’d heard far better excuses from far lesser men. He’d hoped that someone with Xavier’s obvious intelligence would entertain him with a more interesting offer, or at least do a better job of begging. 

Lurid thoughts of how, exactly, Xavier could beg Erik for that extension distracted him so much that he almost missed Xavier’s next words. 

“I think you’ll see that this is a good investment opportunity,” Xavier was saying. He’d brought two fingers to his temple in a gesture anomalous enough to drag Erik away from a pleasant fantasy of Xavier straddling Erik’s thighs, gloriously naked and thrashing and glistening with sweat as Erik twisted one finger up inside him. 

He felt an odd pressure against his consciousness, as if someone was leaning against the flexible surface of his mind, testing for weaknesses. Ah. 

“I wouldn’t bother,” Erik said, a low smoulder of anger replacing the comparatively light, flirtatious tone he’d been using with Xavier. “Ms. Frost is also a telepath, and she’s done a very thorough job of preparing me for that particular bargaining tactic.”

The sense of pressure against his mental walls evaporated instantly, and Erik repressed a sharp flare of anger at Xavier’s little attempt at manipulation. Amateur. 

Xavier had gone pale, but he was blushing again, two bright pink spots on his cheeks like stop signs. “I—I apologize,” he said, and Erik had to give Xavier credit: he did look legitimately contrite, that pinch of schoolboy bashfulness lending the apology a credibility Erik knew wasn’t actually there. Xavier’d dropped his head in shame, but when Erik cleared his throat Xavier looked up instantly. Their eyes met, and for a moment Erik felt that mental pressure again, though this time it was more of a soft brush instead of a heavy-handed pressing. 

“Stay out of my head,” he growled. To reinforce his warning, Erik used his powers to make the two metal-and-chrome bookshelves behind Xavier shudder in place. Theatrical, yes, because he’d had Emma in his head enough to realize that Xavier wasn’t trying to manipulate him again. He’d just been getting a quick read of his mood so that he’d know if Erik meant to react with violence. 

Instantly Xavier fell back into that contrite posture, head down, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in front of him like a supplicant waiting for punishment. The image made Erik harden further. He’d been half-aroused, half-furious since Xavier had walked in the door, and they hadn’t even started to discuss Xavier’s ridiculous request.

“You’ve overplayed your hand,” Erik informed him stiffly. He spread one large palm over the papers on his desk, fingers twitching with the effort not to reach out and _shake_ Xaiver for his insolence, his arrogance. “I wouldn’t have given you another week, not under any circumstances, but now that you’ve tried to fumble around in my head…”

Xavier sighed, one shoulder dropping further. He really did look impossibly young. When he’d stood straight and looked Erik in the eye, Erik had guessed him to be somewhere in his mid 20s, perhaps five or six years Erik’s junior. Now Erik doubted he was more than 21 or 22. The smart tailored suit, the expensive haircut, the casual arrogance: those were the trappings of a rich young man used to getting his own way, which had made Xavier seem older than he was. But Erik was starting to sniff out the truth. 

“Give me a reason not to have one of my men break every bone in your hands.” 

Xavier’s head whipped up and he looked genuinely frightened, though trying to hide it. His blue, blue eyes darkened, and Erik wondered just how desperate Xavier must be to have done such a stupid, dangerous thing as to try and manipulate him telepathically. He must have known Erik would have sensed the incursion - it was no secret that Erik, as head of the largest mutant criminal organization in the country, would have some defence against telepathy. If Xavier had known enough to come and beg money from Erik’s organization, he’d likely have known enough not to try getting into Erik’s head.

Which meant he was either desperate, or foolish. Likely both.

Xavier looked at him, and when his eyes met Erik’s it felt like he’d been punched in the solar plexus. There was such sorrow and anger in Xavier’s eyes, a burning determination to succeed, that Erik felt as if he was looking into a mirror. He shook his head and mentally pulled back, marshalling his defences until he had left nothing for Xavier to latch onto.

“Please,” Xavier said, and finally there was honesty in his voice, instead of the cultured expectation of a man used to getting exactly what he wanted. “Just a little more time. You don’t need to threaten me - you’ll get your money. I just…need more time.” 

With a slight push on the metal legs of his chair, Erik rose and came around the desk to stand directly in front of the other man. Not surprisingly, he towered over Xavier by at least an extra foot. He was broader-shouldered, too, though Xavier was heavier. Despite that, Erik didn’t doubt he could take Xavier down one-handed, and without using any of his powers. 

To his credit, Xavier didn’t flinch at Erik’s looming presence. He looked up at Erik. “Please,” he said again, in the manner of a man who wasn’t used to begging. “I’ll…I’ll do anything.” 

Erik’s lip curled in a sneer. He stepped away from Xavier and leaned back against his desk, the back of his thighs catching the edge of the brushed metal. “You shouldn’t say that,” Erik breathed, anger making his vision turn cloudy around the edges. “Not to a man like me. You read my mind, didn’t you? How can you be so naive?” 

Using each scrap of technique Emma had ever taught him, Erik projected every filthy fantasy he’d had about Xavier since the man had stepped into his office. Images of Xavier naked, moaning, slick with sweat and come, bent over Erik’s desk as Erik rammed into him flooded the space between them. Erik could almost feel the thick, smooth grip of Xavier’s hair as he curled his fingers though it, holding Xavier’s head in place as he fucked into his mouth, Xavier choking as he was forced to take Erik in deep, deeper, swallow his come down in agonizing swallow after swallow. 

There was violence in the images, Erik’s selfish greed and desire to dominate Xavier colouring everything in a wash of dark red. Xavier made him feel anxious, overwrought, as if he had to either fuck Xavier senseless or explode with need. That went into the stream of projected images, too, a cutting line of danger to underscore exactly what Erik wanted from Xavier: submission, subservience, and nude, pliable, desperate need. 

Xavier was breathing heavily, his pretty pale face screwed up in what Erik took for disgust. Sweat had darkened the hair at Xavier’s temples, making it curl. His face was flushed and he’d bitten his lips: the increased blood flow made his lips swell, like he’d already spent hours swallowing Erik’s hard dick. It almost sickened Erik, how much the sight aroused him, how much he wanted to see Xavier looking exactly like that: used, abased, and sweating from the near-pain of being fucked raw and hard. 

Neither of them said anything. Erik kept mentally rehearsing what he was going to say next, but the necessary _Get out of here, and never come back_ refused to form on his lips. He was used to hating himself, but this precise shade of shame was new. He wasn’t used to feeling so…exposed, his darker urges on display for another person. 

When he could finally bring himself to meet Xavier’s eyes, he was surprised to find Xavier staring right back at him, instead of cowering with fear or disgust. 

“Do you mean it?” Xavier said. “If I…if I do those things, you’ll give me the extra week?”

Erik blinked at him. Was that what Xavier had taken from Erik’s deliberate projections? Some kind of _bargain_? Fuck, he’d been trying to scare the arrogant little prick away, not make him an offer. 

“I’d consider it,” Erik heard himself say. His voice was rough, granite on granite, and his cock was straining painfully against the restrictive wool fabric of his trousers. No matter what his head thought about this potential bargain, his body was certainly interested. And Xavier certainly seemed willing, even if it was with the steely will of the determined survivor, not the intrigued lover who shared Erik’s fantasies. But what did it matter? Erik lived far beyond any common moral code. He’d killed people in cold blood, ordered the deaths of many more. He’d lied, cheated, stolen. Left good men crippled, created widows and orphans. He was, in every sense of the word, damned. 

So what was one more sin? 

This business with Xavier would be just another transaction, he told himself. He’d use this beautiful man to get off, maybe pursue a few fantasies that he hadn’t even acknowledged to himself he had, and then he and Xavier would part ways. Xavier would have his extra week, and maybe Erik have a little satisfaction. 

Enough moralizing. Erik stood again, looming over Xavier. Charles, he supposed. He’d have to be ‘Charles’ if they were going to do this. 

“Seven days. If you do precisely what I want, and how I want it, I’ll give you seven days to repay the money.”

He was watching Charles closely; the other man closed his eyes and shivered, then seemed to find some inner resolve. He straightened, and then nodded. “Fine.” Before Erik could say another word Charles had shrugged out of his suit jacket. He slung the expensive garment casually over the back of one of the visitor’s chairs in front of Erik’s desk, and then turned, presenting Erik with his back. 

Charles put his hands on the silver clasp of his expensive leather belt and was already in the process of undoing it before Erik roused himself enough to put a hand on Charles’ shoulder, spinning the other man back to face him.

“Slowly,” Erik murmured, keeping one hand on Charles’ shoulder. Erik could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin white dress shirt; Charles felt fire-hot to the touch, and Erik slid his hand from Charles’ shoulder up to the join of his neck. He massaged the tendon there, long fingers working some calm reassurance into Charles’ muscles, and Erik watched, hypnotized, as Charles’ eyes fell shut. He leaned into the touch as if he were starving for it, and Erik could do nothing but continue to rub soothing circles into Charles’ shoulder. His left hand quickly joined his right and Erik found himself giving Charles what had to be a rather pathetic attempt at a massage. 

Still, Charles seemed to enjoy it, if the pleased little moans he was making were any indication. When Erik felt his fingers start to cramp he slowly came to a halt, and had to hide a self-satisfied smirk at the dazed expression in Charles’ eyes. 

“I…that was quite nice, actually,” Charles muttered, before blushing and ducking his head to finish undoing his belt. Erik watched as Charles’ blunt-fingered hands worked on the leather, and he stretched his powers a bit to enjoy the sensation of Charles’ warm hands on the silver buckle. It wasn’t quite like feeling Charles’ caress on his own skin, but more like a whisper of a touch sensed through the metal. It still made his blood run hot, and Erik pushed Charles’ hands aside to undo the belt himself, powers working to slip the metal tongue out of the hole in the leather. Once the belt was open, Erik simply watched as his powers slipped the metal button on Charles’ pants through the fabric hole, and worked the zipper down until he could see the snowy white of Charles’ boxers. When Erik looked up he saw that Charles’ head was bent, contemplating this display of Erik’s metal-bending ability with a satisfying amount of pleasure.

“Remarkable,” Charles muttered. Erik released the metal belt he’d been snaking through the air. It landed with a clatter on the tile floor, making Charles jump. This time Erik didn’t bother to hide his smirk, and Charles flashed him a shy answering smile as he went to work on his shirt buttons. Soon his Oxford hung open, and Erik had a chance to survey the broad expanse of Charles’ pale, muscled chest. A faint dusting of dark body hair outlined Charles’ pectorals, and Erik resisted the urge to bend and run his mouth along the curves of his muscles. That wasn’t what he wanted, he reminded himself. He wanted this to be fast, and dirty, and absent any insincere softness or tenderness. That wasn’t his style. 

To illustrate his point, Erik gripped the sides of Charles’ shirt and yanked them down over Charles’ arms to the wrists, where the sleeves caught on their buttoned cuffs. Left virtually shackled, Charles was forced to simply stand and wait as Erik leaned forward to push Charles’ pants off his narrow hips to pool at his feet. He stopped to survey Charles’ pale bare legs, the short length of his boxers slightly tented by Charles’ obvious arousal. Erik hadn’t expected that—Charles’ desire, or lack thereof, hadn’t really occurred to him—but he was relieved to see it. Though he knew himself to be a murderer, a monster, Erik wasn’t eager to add ‘rapist’ to the list. 

He found the elastic waistband of Charles’ boxers and slipped beneath to run his hands along Charles’ narrow hips and trace the sharp jut of his hipbones. Charles’ skin was warm, and Erik could feel his laboured breathing against his own ear. It would take so little effort—nothing at all, in the scheme of things—to turn his head, lean in, and meet Charles’ lips. Instead, Erik hooked his thumbs over the waistband and yanked hard, sending Charles’ boxers to meet his pants on the floor. Then he put his large palm in the centre of Charles’ chest and pushed; Charles, his steps restricted by pants and boxers, stumbled back, and he fell into the waiting metal visitor’s chair Erik had positioned behind him. 

Erik used his powers to locate Charles’ cufflinks through the pooled fabric of his sleeves. He fused these together, binding Charles’ hands more firmly, and stepped back to survey his work. Charles sat upright in the chair, chest pumping in and out with each breath, his face flushed hot. He was beautiful, his bare chest stained pink with arousal, and the sight of Charles’ cock—thick, blunt, and jutting upward between his thighs—made Erik’s mouth go dry. Yes, Charles (or at least a part of him) was enjoying this, and Erik couldn’t help but grasp Charles’ dick, wrapping his large, warm palm around it. He wanted to lean in and kiss Charles as he pumped him, taste that cherry-red mouth and those delicious lips, but even through the fog of sex and arousal Erik remembered the significance of a kiss. He refrained, rubbing his dry palm up and down Charles’ length, making Charles swear and gasp and twist beneath him. 

“Fuck!” Charles shuddered, arching up into the hollow of Erik’s palm. Erik smiled his shark’s smile, all teeth, and then deliberately released him, stepping back to open the drawer of his desk.

Charles raised his head, heavy-lidded gaze following Erik, and so Erik saw the way those cornflower-blue eyes widened when he saw the thick metal slab Erik held in his hands. It didn’t look like anything, really: it was just a metal brick, dull and tarnished. Erik kept bits of metal in his desk to fiddle with between appointments, and this was just another fidget-toy. Today, however, he’d put it to a slightly more inventive purpose than simple stress relief. 

Using his powers, Erik floated the metal slab until it was equidistant between him and Charles. Then he began to spin the metal, shaping it as he went. He broke it into three pieces, two spinning out into long, thin, flexible bands, the third forming into the unmistakeable shape of a dildo, one end blunt, one end rounded. Charles’ eyes widened further. 

“Are you—” he breathed, and Erik shook his head. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, though he didn’t know why he bothered to promise Charles anything. The nature of their bargain was simple: he would do what he liked, and Charles would comply if he wanted that extra week. Pain was part of the bargain, or at least it had been an implicit part of the images Erik had sent Charles. Funny, but now that the moment was here, he didn’t want Charles to feel anxious about what would happen between them. 

Not wanting to make things awkward, Erik didn’t offer any further reassurance. He closed his eyes, feeling through the metal pieces as he wrapped the two narrow bands around Charles’ thighs just beneath his knees. He pulled up, and the metal pieces tightened and lifted, holding Charles suspended by the knees but still supported by the chair. The position was decidedly ungraceful: from this angle, Erik could see Charles’ balls, large and hard, dangling between his thighs, and the firm pink pucker of his asshole. He stepped forward, unable to resist, and grabbed Charles by the hips. He rubbed his still-clothed crotch against Charles’ bare asshole, feeling Charles’ shudder at the sensation of Erik’s wool trousers and the firm point of his dick rub across such a tender place. He enjoyed watching the way Charles’ eyes fell closed and he bit his lip, sinking further into Erik’s hands and the metal restraints as Erik brushed his dick across Charles’ asshole again. 

“God,” Charles whispered, and then, “Fuck.” 

“Perhaps,” Erik murmured in agreement, fixated on the soft sweetness of Charles’ face relaxed in pleasure and anticipation. He reached out to touch Charles’ supple rosebud mouth, pushing past the slight resistance of Charles’ closed lips to wet his fingers. Charles responded immediately, opening his mouth wider, taking Erik’s forefinger and middle finger in deep. He curled his hot tongue around the digits, which spent a spike of raw pleasure straight to Erik’s groin. He groaned and tugged his wet fingers back, and then, one hand on Charles’ knee, felt for the entrance to Charles’ ass. Erik found it and placed his forefinger there, just at the puckered entrance, and cupped Charles’ face with his free hand. 

“Charles,” he said, stroking Charles’ cheek with an unaccustomed gentleness. “Charles, open your eyes. Look at me.” 

Charles complied, and Erik sucked in a breath. He’d been wrong. Charles’ eyes weren’t cornflower blue, but a bright, brilliant turquoise. His pupils were so dilated with pleasure that the iris was little more than a slivered ring. Erik shook him a little, urging Charles out of pleasure-fogged haze enough to acknowledge what Erik was saying. What Erik was doing. 

“Charles, look at me,” he ordered, the soft German strains of his accent sharpening to cut through Charles’ druggy arousal. “Keep looking at me,” he said, just as the tip of his finger breached Charles’ asshole.

The effect was immediate and electric. Charles drew in a sharp breath, the ring of muscle in his anus clamping down tight around Erik’s finger. He huffed, straining, and Erik found he couldn’t resist kissing Charles, easing him through it with a whispered, “That’s it, _alles ist güt_ ,” punctuated by the softest brush of his lips. Charles tasted salty-sweet, the faint mint of toothpaste and the saltine flavour of his sweat mingling in a flavour unique to Charles himself. 

Erik sighed in pleasure, bringing their mouths closer together even as he pushed his finger deeper inside, making Charles arch up against him and mash their lips together. Erik’s tongue darted out, tentatively at first and then surging forward to fill Charles’ mouth, his kiss possessive, demanding, as he began to thrust his finger in and out of Charles’ asshole. Charles keened, and seemed to discover that he could use the metal bands elevating his knees as leverage. He snapped his hips down against Erik’s finger, and Erik felt his knees go weak. 

Charles was so responsive, so wonderfully, beautifully in the moment with him, and he couldn’t help add another finger. Erik spared a moment’s regret for the lack of lubricant—he ought to keep some in his desk drawer, although he’d never fucked a client in his office—but Charles didn’t seem to notice, corkscrewing down on Erik’s two fingers as he writhed and moaned in the mental restraints. 

Erik kept kissing him, his hand at the small of Charles’ back, pulling their bodies together so that they were connected from mouth to chest, Erik’s fingers still jackhammering inside Charles’ slick body. He felt Charles start to come before Charles himself realized what was happening; Erik felt that ring of muscle inside Charles clamp down further, and then the hot spurt of Charles’ come against his pants. He held Charles through it, stilling the thrusts of his hand, but kept his mouth fastened to Charles’. Charles’ body shook with the force of his release and his head lolled back, weightlessly, his lips slipping away.

“My god,” Charles said after a moment, that erudite voice husky with orgasm and sounding slightly shocked. “I…my god.” 

“I’m not done,” Erik promised, stepping away to wipe his finger with the pocket square he’d plucked from Charles’ discarded suit jacket. He turned back to look at Charles, still held suspended by the metal bands, and checked beneath his knees for any chafing. He held the third piece of metal in his hand, and Charles watched him, heavy-lidded and only a little wary. 

“What—” he started, only to fall silent and sit up straighter as Erik grasped the dildo firmly, and brought it up to his own mouth. He opened his lips and pushed the thing inside, hollowing his cheeks as he did, working up enough saliva to coat the metal. Erik tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm slide of metal in his mouth and down his throat, the awareness of both the metal and his own flesh as he sucked and licked, putting on a show for Charles. 

Charles watched from his seat, mouth gaping in shocked arousal. Erik wondered what sort of picture he made, stern black-suited criminal mastermind blowing a metal dildo as his…his captive looked on, body rigid with anticipation. Erik smiled against the metal, liking the idea of shocking Charles in this way, before he slipped the dildo out of his mouth, sliding the tip out slowly and letting it drop wetly from his lips. 

Charles grunted something wordless and Erik approached him again, kneeing on the floor in front of him. From this angle he really could see everything: the hairy backs of Charles’ white thighs; his puckered asshole, still slick and swollen from Erik’s fingers; the glint of the metal holding Charles’ knees up. He put a hand there, the metal warm under his fingers, and pushed Charles’ thigh up slightly further. Charles grunted with the strain but didn’t say anything, his body tensing as he anticipated Erik’s next move. Erik let go of the metal dildo he’d just fellated, and floated it to press the rounded end against Charles’ asshole. 

“If this is uncomfortable for you, I hope you’ll let me know,” he said, sending the metal rod into a slow spin as it began to bore into Charles’ body. Erik hadn’t expected to _feel_ so much. With his powers locked and focused on the metal dildo, he could feel the parting of Charles’ flesh, the rough inner texture of his anus, the incredible heat and tightness of him. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, draping himself against Charles’ splayed thighs as he focused on controlling the metal, making it longer, thinner, softer as he pressed it inside Charles.

Charles started to squirm, whimpering, and Erik had to stop and ensure he wasn’t hurting the other man. But no, this was Charles in the grips of arousal, face and chest flushed pink, the dusting of dark freckles standing out like negative constellations against his skin. Erik leaned forward and kissed as many as he could, moving lips and tongue against Charles’ freckles but keeping half his attention on the metal rod he was slowly, steadily pushing into Charles’ body. 

“Nguh,” Charles grunted, panting. He was sweating heavily, and shaking with effort. “It feels…can you feel it?” 

“Yes,” Erik said. “Oh yes, I can feel it, Charles.” 

“Say it again,” Charles said, his head falling back to throw his chest into greater relief. “My name. Say it again.” 

Erik licked his lips, hesitating. It was a simple request. But did it violate their hastily-arranged agreement and inject intimacy into what was fundamentally a business transaction? 

Charles shifted and the metal rod inside him slipped, making Erik groan with the unexpected sensation even as he scrambled to regain his control.

“Stay still, Charles,” he warned, and set the metal rod spinning in place. Charles arched and gasped, and surprised them both by coming a second time. This time the hot spray of ejaculate caught Erik on the chin, and he laughed, stepping away from Charles to swipe at the come on his face. 

They were both filthy. Charles’ skin was coated in come, his belly and chest streaked with it. There was a dark, spreading stain on the front of Erik’s pants, and a drying streak on his trousers where Charles had brushed against his hip. He checked the clock on the wall; in another few minutes Emma would close up the office and go home, and they could perhaps sneak away with their dignity intact. 

“That was…unexpected, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles murmured, and Erik turned to look at him spread out in his wanton pose, legs held up and splayed open by the metal restraints. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, and Erik winced at how sore Charles’ chest and shoulders must be. He eased the metal restraints down and opened them, letting them fall to the floor with a soft _clank_ as he supported Charles’ knees with his hands. The metal cufflinks were unfused, and also left to fall to the floor, along with the rest of Charles’ shirt. Erik helped Charles to stand and step carefully out of the puddle of his pants and boxers on the floor, letting Charles lean on him a bit due to his unsteady legs.

“I…where were we?” Charles muttered, brushing a lank lock of hair off his forehead in a boyish gesture that Erik couldn’t help but find impossibly endearing. “Right. I was begging you for more time, wasn’t I? Throwing myself prostrate at your feet, pleading for my life, et cetera, et cetera. I believe it’s your line now, my friend.” 

Erik grinned at that, deciding that Charles Xavier had a particular genius for coming up with these little scenarios. Still, he’d prefer it if they did this in Charles’ office at the university next time instead of at his own architectural firm; Emma would tease him mercilessly about his “little kinks” tomorrow. 

“Fine,” Erik huffed, trying and failing to slip back into the character of the bitter, disaffected crime lord-cum-loan shark. “You’ve got seven days, Xavier. If I don’t get my money, I’m going to have to take it out of your ass,” he growled, frown edging back into a smile when he saw the way Charles was grinning at him. 

“Well, points for trying, dear,” Charles said, and laced his fingers through Erik’s. “Now, any thoughts about dinner? I’ll pay.”

***


End file.
